My mom and I are shopping at [Membership Warehouse Store]. I need a new backpack, and Mom is willing to make it an early Christmas present for me, seeing as I never have any clue what I want besides money for food and such. (Poor college girl presents, yay!)

We pick out a good backpack and shop around a little more, getting a few other things. We then head up to the cash register. For those that don’t know about [Membership Warehouse Store], in order to buy their stuff, you have to have a card. There are multiple tiers of membership, and they can be Personal, Business, Corporate, etc. It’s also not uncommon to have a parent come in with kids. The oldest kid may push a cart for family purchases on the parent’s Personal account, while the parent pushes a cart to be purchased on the Business card. As long as the name is the same on both cards (i.e., not using someone else’s account), the company has never had problems with this.

We get up to the cashier, and Mom wants to put my backpack on a separate bill. She has two membership cards: one shared between her and Dad for the everyday family stuff and one that’s just hers for fun stuff, Christmas gifts, etc. They’re the same tier, but both have her name.

The cashier doesn’t want to let us do that. This immediately puts my mom on high alert, because this is something she always does.

Mom: “I always do this. Why can’t I do this now?”

Cashier: “You can’t let other people use your card, ma’am. “

Mom: “I’m not. I’m buying it for her; she’s not buying it.”

Cashier: “We can do a subtotal…”

Mom: “Both accounts I’m using are mine. I’m even using the same debit card. I’m not using her money; I’m using mine.”

Cashier: “Well, I heard you asking if that backpack was okay.”

Mom: “She’s my daughter. I can’t get a Christmas present for my daughter on my account?”

Cashier: *Snotty tone* “Well, I don’t know that she’s your daughter.”

Mom: “It shouldn’t matter. Both accounts have my name and my photo on them, and I’m paying with my own debit card. We’re not breaking any rules.”

The cashier then speaks in a tone that suggests she’s now just being spiteful.

Cashier: “Well, you still can’t do that. You can get a subtotal and pay for it on one account, or you can show me her—” *pointing rudely at me with a jabbing finger* “—membership card.”

I was just getting annoyed with the cashier because really, it wasn’t any of her business. Either the cashier should have backed off when Mom explained or she should’ve gotten her manager.

Instead, the cashier kept pushing, saying she needed to put it on a subtotal, which was not what Mom wanted. Mom finally demanded to see a manager and explained what was going on while the cashier was still arguing and getting catty.

The manager looked really confused at why there was even an issue as my mom explained. She showed him both membership cards and her debit card. He gave them all a cursory look, confirmed that all three had the exact same name on them, and then gave the cashier an exasperated look. He stepped in, rang our purchases as my mom asked, handed over the receipts, and apologized for the trouble.

It is late March, 2020. I am at a popular members-only warehouse store. After doing my shopping, I pick a line and wait for the cashier.

The man in front of me is carrying only two very large jugs of pine-scented floor cleaner. The store is entirely out of sanitizers, and judging by the look on the man’s face, he is pretty proud of himself for buying floor cleaner, instead.

Pre-health crisis, most folks put their membership card on the conveyer belt with their purchases. This man clearly doesn’t feel safe doing so. He looks around and thinks for a second, and I can practically see the lightbulb in his brain when he comes up with his solution.

The man picks up the little divider that goes between customers and squeezes his card into the plastic that covers the divider.

He looks really proud of himself, but I’m pretty sure that grimy plastic divider, with a visible line of dirt under it, is the least clean place he could have put that card.

Back in my corporate retail store days, I was a head cashier and had plenty of rude customers that I dealt with, but this interaction always makes me so giddy.

One of my cashiers had this older woman, probably in her sixties or so, come through her line with a loaded cart just overflowing. She had various items but also managed to stuff quite a few outdoor seat cushions in there. It took a bit for the cashier to ring it all up.

Cashier: “Your total is [amount around $350].”

Customer: “What?! You rang that up wrong! [Amount] sounds like way too much to be charging me!”

I overheard the conversation and went over to help. The customer demanded that we re-ring the entire order. Okay, fine. Whatever. I laid everything out and the cashier rang the entire cart up again, showing the customer every scan.

Her snooty attitude instantly changed as the new total popped up.

Cashier: “That’ll be [amount around $430].”

The customer hmphed a bit.

Customer: “Well, I guess I should have kept quiet.”

Serves you right!

I have an opening cashier shift. As it’s early, it isn’t too busy, so I am by myself up front. About twenty minutes after the store opens, I have two people in my line. The second is a woman who is probably about sixty.

Older Woman: “This is such a long wait!”

Heaven forbid she should wait one minute for me to finish up the person in front of her.

Older Woman: “Open another register!”

I call a coworker who has been putting stock away.

Older Woman: “We come early so that we don’t have to deal with the crowds!”

Several years ago, I was working as a field tech for an IT services company. I’ve just finished my last ticket for the day, but I don’t have enough gas to get home. I’m also feeling a little worn out and decide to get some coffee, too, but I’m in an area where almost everyone is Mormon. For those that don’t know, Mormons aren’t supposed to drink coffee.

I’m also near a university that’s run by the Mormon Church, and drinking coffee is grounds (no pun intended) for expulsion. I pull up to a gas station, fill up, walk inside, grab a bottled coffee drink from the fridge, and bring it to the cashier. I’m feeling a little silly, so I decide to pull the cashier’s leg as she rings me up.

Me: *Dead-panning* “Do you need to see ID for this?”

Cashier: “The register just told me to ask for your ID.”

Me: *Laughs*

Cashier: “No, really. It said to card you. I’m not joking.”

She didn’t actually card me like the register told her to, but we both had a good laugh that I desperately needed!